


A Different Direction

by Robin



Category: House M.D., Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Atlantis characters in the House universe, Crossover, Gen, It's a crossover but the Atlantis characters actually don't do much, It's basically just House and Wilson snarking for 1000 words, No Aliens, Obviously the original ducklings fit the show better, Self-Indulgent BS, Spring cleaning my hard drive, They're Doctors, They're way more damaged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23852509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin/pseuds/Robin
Summary: Wilson asks House about his new team. Takes place in an alternate version ofHouseSeason 1, where Weir, Sheppard, and McKay replace Foreman, Cameron, and Chase.
Relationships: Greg House & James Wilson, House/Cuddy is implied pre-relationship, Lisa Cuddy/Greg House
Kudos: 4





	A Different Direction

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Rose Wilde Irish for the initial beta! I wrote this 3 years ago and only cleaned it up now, so any remaining errors are my own.

Weir was brushing up on her Russian reading comprehension when House came in. Loudly, as usual, stamping his cane on the ground like it might actually scare someone. As it was, McKay jumped, abruptly woken from his nap, his physics journal falling off his lap. Sheppard, however, didn't even look up from his sudoku puzzle. Weir wasn't sure if Sheppard's non-reaction was apathy toward House or engrossment in his problem.

"Good, you're all here," House said, as if it weren't 10 a.m., and as if the three of them hadn't been there for several hours already.

Predictably, McKay grumbled, "We've been here since seven."

"Being oh-so-useful, I'm sure," House said. "Solve any cases in those three hours? Save any lives? Judging by the drool on your chin, I'm going to take a wild guess and say 'no.'"

McKay flushed but didn't answer, forcing himself to swallow down his natural sarcasm. He had to do that a lot around House.

"Do you have a case?" Weir intervened diplomatically, pretending not to notice McKay wiping his face with his sleeve.

"That _would_ be a reason for me to say 'Good, you're all here,' wouldn't it?" House tossed a file onto the table, deliberately so that it landed on Sheppard's puzzle. Finally, Sheppard looked up.

"First line's 5, 1, 4, 2, 3, 6, 8, 9, 7," House said.

"Got it already, thanks," Sheppard said mildly, bordering on flippant, as he picked up the file.

"Patient is a 25-year-old white female..."

Fifteen minutes later, after another invigorating round of diagnostics, the "kids" were off running tests and taking their patient's history. House, his morning now cleared, strolled into Wilson's office, slamming open the door.

Wilson kept his eyes focused on his medical journal as House settled himself comfortably on the couch.

"Finally made it in, did you?" Wilson said, turning a page.

"Cuddy tied me up this morning," said House, wiggling his eyebrows. "And I mean that literally. When she was done getting her morning delight, the evil witch wouldn't release me. Took me hours to get out of those handcuffs. That's why I hate administrators."

"Fascinating," Wilson said blandly, not believing a word. "You have a case?"

House twirled his cane loosely between his fingers. "The team's handling it."

"They've been with you for two months now," Wilson said in a deliberately casual tone that fooled no one. "Should I be cautiously optimistic?"

House corrected, "It's only been a month and twenty days."

"Which is plenty of time for an assessment," Wilson pointed out. "You judge people based on two-minute conversations. Less than that, really."

House shrugged indifferently. "None of them have quit yet."

That got Wilson to lift his head, one eyebrow raised. "Your standards are based on whether or not they _quit_?"

"Think I set that bar too high?" House mocked.

"You must trust them on some level if you're letting them do their own thing."

"They're simple tests. How badly can the kids screw those up?"

"Wow. Your absolutely stellar review raises the question: why did you even hire them?"

"Concerned about your little protégé?" House said snidely. "You're married, remember?"

Sighing, Wilson allowed the temporary deflection- he'd been expecting House to bring it up eventually. "I had lunch with Weir _one_ time, and it was purely professional," he said, attempting patience.

"Just two oncologists giggling together over cake and coffee, right?"

"Right," Wilson replied, equally sarcastic, before steering the conversation back to the original subject. "It's a fair question, House. McKay, I get. He's you: brilliant, self-centered, narcissistic egoist and all. Not as misanthropic, maybe, but hey, give him a few more years. But Sheppard?"

Taking a ball out of his pocket and bouncing it on the floor, House said, "His daddy's got connections."

Wilson raised the other eyebrow. "You don't give a damn about that sort of thing. His father could be the president, and you still wouldn't hire him."

"Oh, you got me," House said dramatically, hand over his chest. "I admit it. He's just so like you, that womanizing heartbreaker, I couldn't resist having a mini-Wilson around. True, he's only got one failed marriage so far, but hey, give him a few more years." At Wilson's unimpressed look, House shrugged and bounced the ball some more. "I needed someone with street smarts. It's surprisingly difficult to find a good doctor who knows the finer arts of breaking and entering."

"And Sheppard does?" Wilson said, privately noting that House had called Sheppard 'good.'

"Let's just say his juvie record's got a few black marks, and I'm not afraid of exploiting that."

"Wait, you unsealed his juvenile record- never mind," Wilson sighed and rubbed his forehead. He really didn’t want to know how House had managed to pull that off.

Back to the matter at hand. House’s reasoning for hiring Sheppard was depressing, but Wilson supposed it made sense, at least under House's world view, and House's world view was always depressing.

"Okay, then what about Weir? She's smart, nice, and sensible- _too_ sensible for you to be interested in." Thinking aloud, Wilson said slowly, "But I suppose if McKay is basically you, and Sheppard is 'sort of' me, then Weir would have to be 'kind of' Cu-"

"Better leave the drugs to me, Wilson," House interrupted. "You sound delirious."

"She knows how to handle people," Wilson continued, ignoring him. "Patients love her, and she already has Sheppard and McKay eating out of her hand. She's focused and likes to be in charge. God knows she's always trying to keep _you_ in line. She even sort of looks like Cuddy-"

"Breasts aren't anywhere big enough, ass is too skinny," House said.

"Her _hair_ , anyway," Wilson amended. He looked at House speculatively. "So if she doesn't remind you of Cuddy, why'd you hire her? And don't say because she's pretty."

"She's pretty," House replied promptly.

Wilson rolled his eyes. So they were going to play this game. "Yes, pretty people are such a rare commodity in the medical world, and only ugly people become doctors. After all, look at us, Hideous and Even More Hideous."

"First off, you're clearly Even More Hideous, he of the paisley ties, and second, we're dudes, so that rule doesn't even apply. It only applies to pretty _women_. They don't become doctors when they can just be trophy wives or B-list actresses."

"So she's a puzzle, and you're trying to figure her out, determine whether she's as messed up as you," Wilson said, already familiar with House's modus operandi. However, he didn't fully buy it in this case. "But she's not the only attractive candidate you interviewed. There were others who were prettier. So, that brings us back to the question: why _her_?"

"She knows six languages," said House. "You know what they say about cunnilingus." He paused, tilting his head with affected confusion. "Oh wait, did I say that wrong."

"I guess the real question is," Wilson mused, as if House hadn't spoken, "is why you _want_ a mini-Cuddy around. I thought you couldn't stand her. The two of you are always fighting."

"Clearly I'm just a masochist." House gave him a sardonic look. "Your theory's wack, your assumptions are all wrong. Weir's got that annoying wide-eyed, people-are-inherently-good idealism going on. She's nothing like bloodthirsty, ready-to-rip-you-to-shreds Cuddy."

Wilson snorted. "And _that_ sounds like Cuddy."

House pointed a finger at him. "Underestimating her makes you easy prey," he warned. "She can smell weakness under your tacky cologne. Trust me, Cuddy and I have been at war for years; I know her better than anyone."

Instead of dismissing House's rant, Wilson seriously considered it. "You two _do_ have a weird, long history together, which you almost never talk about," he said. "I always thought that was just you being you. But now I'm starting to wonder. You act like you don't care-"

In a bored tone, House interjected, "Probably 'cause I don't."

"But maybe it's actually the opposite. Maybe you never mention your past with Cuddy because you care _too_ much."

House's eyes widened. "Wow, Dr. Wilson, I didn't know you had a side practice as a back-alley shrink. Are you charging me for this, or is your palm reading a freebie?"

"I'm close, aren't I," said Wilson, undeterred. The similarities between Cuddy and Weir were definitely there, and though he hadn't known Cuddy during her earlier years, it wasn't hard to guess what she could have been like. Besides, there had to be some 'people-are-inherently-good idealism' left in Cuddy for her to have given House a job and put up with him for so long.

"Maybe," Wilson hazarded, "in some bizarrely, uncharacteristically sentimental way, Weir reminds you of a younger Cuddy."

"Pretty sure I already said her ass was too flat and her rack too small," House said.

Suddenly, it clicked. "She's a case," Wilson realized, understanding like a douse of cold water. "You hired her to see if she turns out like Cuddy... or if, under your influence, she goes in a different direction."

"Well, that just sounds creepy," House said, much too innocently, "and nothing like me at all."

Wilson wasn't sure whether he was more shocked or outraged. "House, you can't just hire people for some bizarre sociological experiment-"

House rolled his eyes, interrupting his lecture. "Even _if_ , theoretically, you were anywhere close to right- and Weir's stellar grades and recommendations up the barely-there ass provide plenty of plausible deniability- you have nothing to worry about. I'm not going to corrupt your girlfriend."

"Not my girlfriend, and not at all reassuring," Wilson said flatly.

House looked him directly, his gaze suddenly focused and unwavering. "I won't treat her any differently than I would Sheppard or McKay," House said seriously, not the slightest hint of sarcasm or mockery in his voice. "Think of it as an observational study; manipulation would defeat the purpose."

Wilson studied him, weighing his sincerity. After a few moments, he released a long, deep breath and nodded tightly. It added up, in an insane sort of way. House didn't want to play god (this time); he just wanted to watch, predict, and analyze his way through. Messed up, sure; unethical, clearly; but not malicious... probably. (But did that really make this situation any better?)

A knock on the glass door drew both of their attentions. Sheppard stood on the other side, looking in expectantly.

Mildly, House said, "Looks like mini-you has come to save me from your incessant theologizing."

"What are mini-best friends for," Wilson retorted, not quite as naturally as he would have liked. He waved Sheppard inside.

Sheppard nodded at Wilson in brief greeting as he entered, then turned to his boss. "Patient started seizing; McKay's theory was wrong, and so was mine." Sheppard was always straight to the point when it came to his patients; his efficiency was something Wilson liked.

"What would you children do without me," House said theatrically, putting his ball away and getting to his feet. Glancing at Wilson, he drawled, "As enlightening as this tête-à-tête has been, Daddy's gotta go diagnose a patient."

Sheppard suppressed a smirk and headed back out.

House was at the door when Wilson realized he'd been successfully distracted from pursuing a certain line of inquiry.

"House," Wilson called, "one day, you're going to tell me what's going on between you and Cuddy."

House didn't even pause, instead making an obscene gesture through the glass and then disappearing from view.

Wilson sat back in his chair. Some of his worry and doubt still lingered, but what else could he do but wait? House had picked his team- for whatever dubious, possibly illegal reasons- and he was stuck with them. _If_ they didn't quit first, of course. Wilson didn't think they would, though. It was just a feeling he had, but he suspected that Weir, Sheppard, and McKay were more resilient than House would admit.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for replacing Foreman with a white guy for the sake of this self-indulgent crossover. Please just imagine Foreman running Atlantis in this AU.
> 
> Originally I wanted to do follow-ups expanding on the Atlantis characters and why they became doctors in this universe, but writing is hard, so this is a one-shot.


End file.
